


Apprentice

by wordsrising



Series: the Shifting Bones [1]
Category: Flight Rising
Genre: First Meetings, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 09:55:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29632887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordsrising/pseuds/wordsrising
Summary: A proper price for a cursebreaking is one gladly paid.
Series: the Shifting Bones [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2034121
Kudos: 1





	Apprentice

Prism kept his tent well-warded in both directions, to keep in the more volatile consequences of his work and to keep out unwanted visitors, protecting his clan and himself. His wards would not allow those with ill intent to pass within the circle of crystal and bone surrounding his tent, and spells and curses rolled off the tentcloth like so much water off a duck, each time alerting him to what had been prevented.

When, well past nightfall, he heard a scratching at the tentflap, he didn't consider for a moment that his wards had failed; they had simply allowed one of good or neutral intent to pass without notice, as they were made to do. Rousing him from sleep meant that the issue was of some urgency, so he left the private area of the tent immediately, without bothering to dress or wake Chiron, expecting to find a dragon in distress waiting for him.

What he found instead was a Nightfall Imp, small for their species and wrapped up in a heavy cloak with the hood pushed back, stubby fingers twisting in the tattered fabric, mane fluttering and tail lashing. The little thing was perhaps a little larger than a large Fae, their wide eyes glowing faintly in the gloom of the darkened tent as they stared up at him.

"Teach me how to break a curse," they said in a high clear voice that trembled, just a little.

Prism cocked his head, whistling curiously. They did not appear to be cursed themself, meaning they had come on behalf of someone or something else. He could admire that. They were obviously frightened, but just as obviously determined.

"What sort of curse?" he asked, turning up the lamp to better see his guest.

They shuffled their hooves nervously, hands tightening on their cloak. "A blight curse," it answered. "The tree's not dead but it won't flower."

Prism hummed absently, turning to his bookcases. "You are certain it's a curse?"

"Yes. Teach me to break it. I'll pay whatever you ask, Lord Dragon."

Prism whistled in amusement. "Prism, little one," he corrected. "My name is Prism. What sort of tree?"

"Lava berries."

Prism hummed sharply, frowning at his array of tomes. Lava berries, lava berries... "Would that be another name for potash peaches?"

"I think so?"

He nodded, selecting a volume and taking it down to flip through its heavy pages, scanning the cramped handwritten text, then replaced it and took down another. "Do you know who cast the curse?"

"Yes. One of the Big Ones. The..." they paused, frowning, then pointed at a carved statuette of an Imperial dragon. "That kind of dragon. W-with yellow eyes. If that matters."

Prism's hum turned sour as he continued searching, finally finding what he wanted near the end of the shelf, faded ink barely legible, but he only needed it for reference.

"Thank you, little one," he said, finding a satchel and sliding the book into it, collecting a few bottles and ingredients as well. "I cannot teach you to break such a curse in a single night," he informed the imp. "Such a complex undertaking will require years of study. I will, however, break the curse on your behalf."

The little one perked up, ears twitching and tail going still. "Thank you, Lord Prism!"

Prism smiled down at them, finding the last of the things he'd need. "Show me to the tree, little one," he instructed.

"Iaso," they said, almost shy, as they hurried back out into the night with Prism following. "I'm Iaso, even if I'm also a little one to you."

"A pleasure, Iaso," Prism assured them. "Let us hurry."

Iaso nodded, leading him off into the gloom. Prism followed without hesitation. If some Light dragon thought they could go around cursing trees in the Shadowbinder's Wood, Prism would just have to teach them a lesson.

* * *

Iaso led him some distance from the clan’s territory, to a wild patch of forest not far from the edges of the Ruins where dark pines and brambles hedged in a tiny clearing around a single potash peach tree. The tree’s gnarled roots sprawled outward, breaking the ground into a mosaic of dirt and grass and other flora, branches scrawling crackled shadows over the lot of it. A particularly large root arched upward into a natural gateway, below which yawned a pitch-black hole that looked like a comfortably sized entrance for a Nightfall Imp.

The tree looked healthy enough, and in this season its branches should be heavy with moon-grey blossoms, the ground blanketed in fallen petals, but only shadow-dark leaves reflected the glow of the mushrooms and the struggling moonbeams, letting Prism easily spot the many young imps trying to hide in the branches, the subtle light of their violet manes and robin-bright eyes contrasting starkly with the darkness.

Iaso darted forward, to the root-wrapped hole, and vanished down it. Prism settled down to wait patiently at the edge of the little clearing, not wanting any of the imps to feel threatened or frightened by him, and occupied himself with studying the tree and the curse on it. It was certainly a nasty bit of business, but thankfully within the bounds of his abilities to remove.

Iaso returned with another Nightfall Imp on their arm, one so old that the violet of their mane had dulled to an almost heathered grey. Their voice was high but dusty, cracked with age and heavy with wisdom.

“Iaso says you’ve agreed to help,” they said.

“I have,” Prism replied.

“She says you haven’t stated your price.”

Prism cocked his head to the side, humming. “No price,” he said. “The dragon who did this was trespassing: undoing their work is my duty.”

The elder imp frowned. “Dragons are not known to be generous even to their own kind,” they said. “Name a price or leave: we will not have dragondebt hanging over us.”

Iaso whined softly in alarm, a noise echoed by the imps half-hidden in the branches. “Elder-”

“Name a price or leave, dragon. That is final.”

Prism hiss-hummed in distress. He could not leave the tree cursed, but he didn’t know what sort of price he could reasonably expect a tribe of Nightfall Imps to be able to pay. His eyes landed on little Iaso in her tattered cloak, eyes big and bright and shining just as they’d been when she’d braved a dragon’s den in hope of learning to break curses.

“Iaso.”

“Yes, Lord Prism?”

“Do you still wish to learn to break curses?”

She nodded immediately, mane and eyes glowing brighter.

“Then that is my price. I will mend your tree and take Iaso as my apprentice.”

The elder imp peered up at him for a long moment before nodding sharply. “Very well.”

Prism whistled happily. “Then let us begin. Come, Iaso: an extra set of claws is never a bad thing with work like this.”

He stood, hefting his bag, and started for the tree, Iaso trotting along beside him.

The work was exacting, but not difficult, and over with quickly. Making the curse rebound on the dragon who cast it was not strictly necessary, but Prism did it, anyway. The caster wouldn’t die from so small a curse, but they would be suitably chastised for their actions.

Warding the tree against an attempted repeat was also not necessary, and Prism was certain it would not have been allowed if he had not framed it as Iaso’s first lesson.

Once the work was done, Iaso gathered up a rough sack of possessions and made her goodbyes to the other Nightfall Imps clustered at the base of the tree, now pushed into proper full flower, dropping a soft rain of petals over the gathering. The shyer imps hid in the branches once they’d given Iaso their farewells; the bolder chose instead to pester Prism with questions and clumsily-veiled threats should Iaso come to harm in his care. Prism gamely answered their questions and nodded along with their threats, humming happily.

Her last goodbye delivered, Iaso trotted once more to his side, her mane and eyes glowing brightly.

“I’m ready, Lord Prism,” she reported.

“Then let us be off,” he replied, turning homeward. It had been a long night, and he looked forward to being reunited with his bed.

Chiron was sure to have objections to having to share their tent with another apprentice, but that was a problem for the morning; for now, Prism just wanted to see Iaso settled and get some sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place long before Prism joined the Shifting Bones, but I just love his relationship with Iaso so much y'all. Might write a second part that actually involves the Shifting Bones, but I'm making an active effort not to have another _Truce_ on my hands, so here we are.


End file.
